The Kitten and The Wolf
[A note from the author: The following is not required reading for the story, but rather a bonus chapter detailing what happened after the final chapter of 'The Kitten and The Wolf'. It's a smutty little extra that I included because I wanted to write it, and I assume certain members of the audience would like to read it. If explicit sexual content is not your bag, this is your warning to turn back now. If it is your bag... well, glad I could oblige! ONWARDS!]
Since that day out in the yard, when Di'kana had stared at Farkas and watched his body move with rapt attention, she'd wondered what it would be like to touch him. Such a wondering had led to a number of imaginings, each more infuriating than the last, always leaving her with a particular irritation that made itself known in a bubbling warmth that distracted her when her mind was still. When she'd been busy, it had not been so much of a problem. She only had time to think of it in-between other happenings, and that time was often cut short to get back to work... but that time had gotten more drawn out after her injury had come to light. Bed rest, at least when Tilmo could enforce it, meant she spent hours alone with little more than her own mind... and her mind did like to wander.
She supposed it was in her nature, as a Khajiit, to be curious. Curiosity had turned to a sort of obsession, if she were truly and fully honest with herself. The fact that Farkas was a werewolf had not dissuaded her thoughts; if anything, her mind could more easily picture him being rough, more quickly accept the idea of him overpowering her, and it made her tongue peek out to lick her lips, tail shifting as she tried to ignore the way heat trickled downwards for the consideration. More and more, in her time alone, she'd been reminded of what had happened right after she'd seen him in his beastly form-- the way he'd come back to her, and apologized. She'd seen him, tall and dark and full of teeth. She'd watched him rip and tare and maul a group of ten warriors with ruthless brutality-- and then he'd returned to her and, near playfully, apologized for frightening her. The contrast in his natures only served to raise up her fascination, as well as her desire to understand the fullest extent of both his power and his tenderness.
It was those thoughts that had found her in his room that night. It was those thoughts that had brought her to knock upon the door, and to instigate their tactile game of chasing down scars and stories. It was all an excuse to touch him, and feel her stomach clench and flop with the heat of his skin under her fingertips, aware of the bright stare of his eyes. When he'd touched her, clumsily identifying the scars upon her shoulder? Even such a simple and innocent contact had kindled fire within her.
Now, she found herself with him. Her robe discarded, her tunic pulled away, and Aela's interruption having come and gone. The huntress's advice was taken; Di'kana got up to take the darting steps to the door, locking it. Now they were secure from any other intrusion. When she looked back, she saw that Farkas had set himself upon removing the last of his coverings. There had been armor still strapped to his legs, now clattered to the floor. Boots were pulled off as she watched him, standing in nothing but her small clothes. He was more than willing-- there was urgency in his movements that hinted at him being eager.
A tremble ran through her as she returned to him, one that turned into a thick purr that rumbled out of her chest. As she came close, he looked up, and silver eyes bore massive pupils that stared at her with vicious intent. His trousers remained, but still he reached for her, one great paw of a hand securing about her forearm and pulling her back down with more force than she anticipated. His grasp didn't return her to his lap, as she'd expected. Instead, she was pulled down to the bed itself, thrown onto her back with her belly and throat exposed. For her, it was a position of vulnerability and surrender, staring up as he swung a leg over her hips and glowered down from above her. Deep in his throat, he growled, his head burrowing down against her neck before a sharp application of teeth made her gasp softly.
She'd not expected him to take to it so quickly, so easily-- but maybe it had not been hard for him to imagine, either. She felt his hand seize beneath her head, and she was reminded of how much bigger he was than her. His palm clutched within her hair and upon her skull, elbow planted to support himself above her. Her body stretched as his other hand found its way beneath her, taking hold of her rump and pulling her up to him. She felt him, the strength in his body, the wave of heat that felt as if it rolled off of him as he bit into her neck and clutched her close.
She swore in her native tongue, again as he rocked his hips down against her. There was no shame in him, no hesitation now that they agreed on where they were going. His teeth released from her neck, and clamped on again at her shoulder. A reedy cry came from her, grit down between her own fangs as she tried not to produce much noise. Fear pulsed through her, adding to the frantic and delighted thumping of her runaway heart, that someone might hear and come to investigate. At the same time, there was a chaotic divinity to the way her body molded against his; a certainty in the way there was no space between them as he clutched her close and her own hips lurched upwards to respond to his downward motion. Her breath came like the heat off glowing embers, and shortened with the anticipation of what was yet to come. Their current movements, eager jolts with intervening cloth still in the way, were a wanting preview that thundered out consent and desire where words had since ceased. Yes, yes, yes please-- these were the rocking movements as his hand slid over her rear and more towards her center. Fingers tickled beneath her thigh, and sent burning sparks into her core when calloused fingertips rasped over the last remaining cloth she wore.
Her accent turned her voice hissing and smooth, long vowels and a soft groan that turned his name into an obscene sound of want. Her head twisted to his, finding his ear between her teeth and nipping, trying to get his attention away from finding yet another place to bury his head and sink his teeth into her. She felt soreness where he'd bitten her-- he'd knew just how hard to bite as not to draw blood. Beneath her fur, there was no doubt bruising that would have been visible on Nordic woman. There were probably stands of hair in his teeth, but he seemed not to care. The sound of his name was met with an abrasive, low sound. It came from deep within his chest, carried out of his nose as he huffed against her skin. Where her thighs had moved apart to the sensation of his fingertips, his grasp tantalizingly brushed over fabric that was growing rather damp.
Her ear flicked as his head rose to it. She could hear the weight of his breath, the way it rushed out of him as he still rocked his hips against hers. The two moved together in that respect, a rubbing that made her aware of another size difference that would have to be negotiated before this was over. “Shhh....” He hushed her, the hand beneath her head moving to instead stroke her brow. Loose silver strands were pushed back, heavily pet and drug between thick fingers. “Quiet, kitten... the... the rooms down here... the fireplaces...”
His words were not cooperating, but she could guess his meaning; the various quarters down here had fireplaces for heat and light. The smoke had to go somewhere; the chimney shafts likely came together into a single smokestack... which made tunnels for sound to travel through. If she cried out, others were sure to hear her.
She couldn't even think of the word in common to indicate she understood. She'd turned her face to his, dragging a long lick up his cheek and pressing against his face after. She wanted him to smell of her, to spread her scent as well as she could. It was some base instinct that she found impossible to ignore, demanding she mark him as a wildcat would mark territory. Arms and hands that had originally been left cast above her head and laying idle shifting to come down and take hold of him by his shaggy hair, pulling his head up so that she could bump her nose against his, and indulge in another tactile nuzzle that drug their cheeks against each other. In that action, to find him returning the motion, to hear another low groaning growl escape him--
Divines, she wanted him.
“Like this...?” He asked softly, alluding to the way he was above her right now. Was this how she wanted this?
It took her several seconds to think of what to say. She grew frustrated in the attempt, growling throatily before finally shifting her tongue in a way that would bring her back to speaking a language he'd understand. “... n-no... ah... up... up, please....”
His withdraw was quick; sitting back on his shins and looking down at her where she lay. She felt ruffled, aware of where his hands had been only seconds before. The sudden absence of his body brought a chill to her chest and belly, where silver blazed from the bottom of her chin all the way to her nethers. Even if he'd pulled away when bidden, he was still watching, watching with eyes that nearly glowed in the dim of his room, reflecting the fire in the hearth as he took her in. She could see as his gaze played over her modest breasts, such as they laid over her ribs and shifted with the heave of her breath. His hands, no longer clutching and dragging through her fur, still rested upon her hips. Thumbs drew circles, and tugged idly on her last garment.
In return, she was looking at him. Looking without shame in the way the orange glow in the room created ethereal highlights and deep shadows over his body. Blue eyes tracked over him, from dark shaggy hair and the swelling pulse in his neck, down over the definition of his chest and shoulders, and the scars that decorated his skin. At a time before, she had thought him too naked-- the same thought she had about every person without fur when she saw them uncovered... but he appeared correct to her eyes, now. Correct in the way layers of muscle moved over bone, and a fine thatch of hair ran down the center of his chest and stomach, widening over his navel and then narrowing back down to disappear past the line of his rough linen trousers. Strong legs, flexed in the way he balanced himself over her, were a quick distraction from the thick shape that pressed up between them.
He was waiting for her to move, or to speak; to give further direction on what she wanted... but there was impatience in his stance. Not in his face, but the tension of his body reflected the urge to act.
She turned on the furs of his bed; turned her body away from him and rose up to her own knees in front of him. His hands refused to let her be; they clung to her waist as she turned, and came back to her hips as she settled. His fingers tightened, tugging her back so that he could press against her again, and she found that shape of him rather firmly against her rear. Her tail shifted, up and to the side, as if in encouragement of the way they fit together. In silence, with nothing but the crackling fire, Di'kana felt his hands wander further after that; an outspread palm stretched over her belly to hold her snug as his body rocked against hers. Behind her, over the top of her head, she felt a rush of his breath that let a soft groan get away from between his lips. His other hand went over her ribs, upwards, cupping her breast and squeezing. Fingertips, rough from a lifetime of swordplay and hard labor, sought and found a tender nipple where it hid among it's lighter accompaniment of fur.
The sensation was entirely new to her, and it tingled. New attention she'd not considered brought on a sharp inhale followed by a long and low hiss from between her teeth; not displeased, but simply gritting against the urge to vocalize in some way. Farkas, however, seemed to misunderstand-- his hand jolted in fear of doing something wrong or painful, and her own palm had to rise to seize his and ensure it did not leave. She brought him back, pressing his hand back over the soft mass of her chest and letting out a long hum that rumbled along with her purring.
It was then that his other hand became a greater distraction. The warm mass upon her belly had moved, downwards-- over the tight muscles and soft fur of her stomach, and down. The fabric of her small clothes had been ignored, bypassed, his fingers delving beneath.
This, too, was something she had not anticipated nor imagined. She understood that some races had an obsession with female breasts that was not prevalent among the Khajiit, but what he was doing now was something she had neither heard of nor considered in her ideas of sexuality and affection. Fear made her quiver, as a Khajiit man would never risk his claws so close to his lover's most tender places-- but, she reminded herself before she cried out or pulled away-- Farkas was not Khajiit. He had no claws, no sharpness at the tips of his fingers. No pain awaited her as his touch found its way further and further down, over the hard crest of her hip bones and, finally, to where her body dipped inwards in a welcoming split. In fact, the sensation that greeted his touch seemed the opposite of pain, the texture of his skin finally finding a part of her body that wasn't furred and, in this moment, was instead slick and hot to the touch.
Her hips jolted against his hand; a sharp jump as her jaw fell open for another sharp gasp.
“Easy...” He murmured against her ear. “... has no one ever... done this for you before?”
She answered him in her mother tongue, but also with a shake of her head. No, no one had touched her this way before. If Khajiit wanted to do better by their female partners, it was done with the tips of their tongues where the roughness provided texture that was more pleasure than pain. She supposed a pair of soft leather gloves could be employed, if one of her kind wanted to do this, but she'd never heard tell of it before...
Then again, she was fairly young. Her experience was limited, even among her own kind. There had been her swordsmaster, ever her guide when she'd begun training in order to contribute to her caravan. While he had not provided her with her first experience, he had advised her on such matters; times and places and the import of speaking with a partner, gaining their agreement, before committing to the act. Her mother, too, had spoken with Di'kana about the mastery of one's own flesh, and how violation should be met with talons, teeth, and no measure of mercy. Her first experience had been with another child of the caravan, near her own age. Much as those experiences tended to be, it had been enthusiastic, hurried, clumsy, and perchance a bit ill-planned.
What she'd done back then had been nothing like this. She and that boy had been too eager for pawing over one another for an extended time. All this rubbing and pulling that Farkas was doing to her-- it made her breath draw shorter each time, swallowing thickly as she struggled not to curse on every exhale. Behind her, pressed tight against her back, she could feel the rush of fire that must have been consuming him, and yet he remained focused on his task... though she knew not his goal. Perchance to make her crumble into bits? That's what it felt like, his finger between her thighs where it drew circles around some part of her flesh that made her squirm with torturous delight.
For all that was good and holy, his voice! All that roughness, all of that which she delighted in had sunk into a husky whisper. She felt him breathe against the top of her head, asking his question into her hair as two of his fingers pinched and lightly tugged at her nipple, the grasp of his palm likely being the only thing that yet held her upright in this stance.
Helplessly, she nodded. She nodded on and on, blue eyes closing tight as her jaw slaked and she began to pant.
Satisfaction colored his tone, and she moaned. She couldn't help it. Consideration to quiet could not prevent the obscene sound she made when she felt his smile rumble through on the back of a voice she could feel vibrating through her bones. What he was doing felt good, but it made her want-- there was something there, but she could not comprehend what. All of this sensation, this heat, it was all building up towards something she'd never experienced... or, if she had, it hadn't been like this before.
The hand that had clutched him to her chest, now pulled him away. Without his hand on her, she pitched forward on the bed and moved the pillow aside in anticipation of clawing. Head and shoulders dipped low, and her tail freed itself upwards. Like this, she presented herself to him in hopes that he'd get what she wanted without words.
He'd moved a little with her; hunched over her as she bent. He refused to let her escape the exquisite agony he was inflicting upon her with his finger. The motion changed somewhat, into a longer stroking motion that drug callouses over the sensitivity that was driving her insane. Her shoulders shook and her teeth secured upon one of the pelts that covered his bed, whimpering in place of the squeal that might have come out of her instead. She was certain she'd bitten through, but she didn't have space in her mind for an apology. His other hand, starting at her shoulder, clawed down her back. He had no talons, but she felt his nails rake through her fur and across her skin, and it was perfection from shoulders to hips. When he reached the end of his course, his fingers secured around the edge of her underwear, and tugged them down to, at long last, expose her. Full escape took a moment; for her legs to come together enough that the garment would slide down her thighs, to lift one knee and then the other so that it could clear that bend and, finally, be pulled off beyond her feet. It was tossed aside, somewhere, before Farkas switched hands. His approach changed from reaching around her, to his other hand slipping between her legs from behind. He abandoned the sensitive flesh he'd been teasing and, instead, she felt the test of one of his fingertips at the very boundary of her body.
She gulped air. Again, she found herself in a place beyond her imagination. Eyes flickered open for a moment, staring ahead as she felt one of his digits press into her, and she had to marvel at the fact that it didn't hurt.
There were advantages to experimenting outside of her race, it seemed.
“Tight.” He murmured. “... relax, Kitten... not gonna hurt you...”
She felt his finger begin to withdraw, and the feeling brought a shuddering groan from within her. Teeth released from whatever hide it had punctured through, her head lolling off to one side as she huffed for more air. “... s-small... this one is small...”
Faintly, she heard him chuckle. No doubt he'd noticed that a long time ago. He withdrew completely, and she felt him shifting behind her-- no doubt finally stripping down the rest of the way himself. When he was settled against her once more, it was with both hands grasping her hips, and his body firmly against hers... with nothing to intervene between them. There was no doubt to his girth as she felt it resting against her rump, nor the heat and power of his flesh. His fingers gripped hard, and his body leaned over hers with another heavy sigh that might have snarled if it were any further back in his throat.
“... gonna...” He swallowed, a rough and ragged breath passing out his nose. “... gonna start now... lemme know if it hurts... it shouldn't hurt.”
No words. She had none, but she could nod. She could nod as her head buried against the bed. Reaching out, her hands found the head of the bed frame, and gripped tightly against the wood. Without thinking, she pitched her hips upwards, and her tail followed suit before flopping off to her right side. One of his hands remained on her rump, gripping her. His body leaned back, and she felt his flesh adjust against hers. He'd grasped himself to find his way, rubbing blindly against her presented vulnerability at first. For a moment, she thought he was having trouble, but it wasn't the case-- he was preparing. Each pass of his flesh against hers, heat against heat, she felt her body throb and drip-- and he stole those drips to coat himself, huffing softly all along the way. Despite his warning at the beginning of all this, that, in his own words, she shouldn't tease a wolf-- he was astoundingly good at holding himself steady and not simply pouncing upon her without care. She felt teased, with the way her body was going mad without her knowing what to do to reach whatever it was she was craving. Throughout her pelvis and belly, she burned, coiled up and needy. As he rubbed against her core, passing hard flesh against this soft part of her, she felt beyond certain she was going to break apart from sheer tension before knowing what it was that made this feel so damned good.
Finally, he positioned himself. Slowly, he began to press, and her body gave way to his. A thin sigh left her as she stretched, but there was no pain to cry out over. He came far enough that his guiding hand was not needed, and it returned to join its brother on her hips.
Be quiet be quiet be quiet be quiet--
“Oooooh... oh my...”
His voice, moaning out over her-- controlled, quiet, but still rumbling his enjoyment against her ears. Their joining paused, and she felt him squeeze her. There was a tremble in him that threatened to yank her back against him, but was restrained. He was fighting himself not to attack with all viciousness, not to give in to urges that would rush them through this faster than desired.
She opened her mouth, and bit hard into the blankets-- possibly part of the mattress. She didn't know. His hips rocked back, easing off slightly, before he began again. She shook, aware of him as her body gripped and squeezed with every second he was within her. Again, she felt, there was something here-- it was closer than it was before, and she wanted it, and every instinct within her told her that what he was doing to her was the way to get it. Her body was shuddering and squeezing without her command, and her hips pressed back against him when he paused.
Muffled, she squalled into the bedding.
Her press was received with surprise, but also enthusiasm. It was his signal; she wasn't in pain, and she wanted this. Truly, he forgot how hard it could be to hold back. With her like this, with her body bowed down and her rump in the air, it took nearly everything within him not to simply go at it like a young dog who'd hump anything in sight for the fun of it... but gods she was tiny. Beneath him, it was hard to forget when his spread hands covered so much of her. Harder still when they'd begun, and she gripped so tightly around him.
He liked the way this felt. He liked the way she felt, watching her shake from all he'd done to her, and feeling her shudders from within her as he, again, took a pause to pull back slightly before continuing on. He was easing against her, into the heat and slick, letting that spread over him even more until the movements came easily. It didn't take long, until there was less pressing and more sliding. Teeth gritted, breath bursting out of his lungs, part of him felt like he had the beast's fangs in his mouth. He felt that animal in him, too-- it breathed and moved in tandem, and fueled his actions as much as instinct did. It was the part of him that made him shake, that he had to fight off to ensure he did this right, and didn't hurt her just because they were so different in size. She had approached him-- he refused to do her any harm... no matter how much her scent invigorated him, or how much he liked the look of her down on her knees and bent over like this.
She squealed-- sound expelled out of her and into his bed, and her hips rocked back.
That was a growl. A snarl, a warning or a promise-- maybe both, he didn't know. Resolve was crumbling, and his breath was coming quicker now. His grasp changed; hands moved from holding the curve of her arse to sliding forward and into the crease between her hips and thighs. It was a place to grasp for one hand, but the other slid yet further-- to find the place he'd teased before with his fingertip, and do it again.
When he touched her, he felt her twitch-- a throb that began with her flesh around him squeezing tight for an instant before it passed up her spine and made her head lift. He heard something rip. It was probably the linen sheets Tilmo dressed the hay mattress with. She cried out something-- he didn't understand the word, but the tone was right. Her voice had risen, her throat had gotten tight. He knew these sounds, knew this feeling--
He began to thrust against her properly; finding a rhythm and gasping at the pleasure that coursed through him. He'd tried to time it, but divines she felt too good--
The clutch passed through him, grasping tight at his core before moving on with its delightful spasms that took his breath out of his lungs. He yanked back on her, and his motions arrested with her pulled tight against him. Heat, such fucking heat-- between them, passing from him to her, pooling within her body as his reached the edge and toppled over. For a moment, he had forgotten to breathe... and then the air came in long and desperate draws that filled his chest and let the world rush in once more.
She was still there, beneath him, whimpering. The sudden stop had her squirming, wiggling beneath him and trying to continue where he'd yanked her up short. The hand that had yanked her close, insisted on her being tight against him, was released to instead brace upon the bed and hold himself over her back as he continued to rub her where that tiny nub of flesh stood out from her folds and begged for attention. Greater focus brought a raw cry out of her, and again he felt her shudder and squeeze.
“It's okay...” He muttered, breathless. “Don't fight it... it's okay...”
All at once, she went ridged. Her breath stopped, and her cries fell silent. He heard her claws sink into the wood of the bed, and felt it as every muscle she had strained against something beyond description. Still joined, he felt her around himself, and knew that if he hadn't lost it moments ago, he would have lost it now.
He wished he'd timed it right. He hadn't expected to go over that quickly...
When her breath next rushed in, it was followed by a sigh that could only be described as relieved. Relieved of the tension, of the growing ache caused by everything they'd been doing, and everything she'd been thinking about before it had happened. It was his signal to stop, to cease his ministrations and let her be. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back from her, and she turned her body to the side to fall down to his bed. On the same token he, too, shifted to his side to lay next to her. Not at her back, though; he laid to face her, to look at her as she began to purr once more; a loud and happy noise that he felt vibrate through her flesh. Her eyes were closed, her ears left lax. Her hands had released from the bed frame to instead gather against her chest, keeping herself warm as the heat of the moment faded away.
Seeing her like this, Farkas found himself smiling softly. Reaching out, a hand brushed back through her silver hair. “... you okay, Kitten?” He asked.
A blue eye cracked open, and she managed a faint laugh.
“Is the Wolf deaf?” She quested weakly. Her throat felt somewhat raw, but in a good way. The way one's jaw might hurt after laughing and talking too long with a good friend was how her whole body felt; pleased but too tired to be bothered with anything. “... this one thinks she was entirely clear...”
“Just... just checking in. I... didn't mean for it to end so quickly.”
A touch of embarrassment might have found its way into his voice.
She was quiet for several moments at that comment, blinking a few times as she comprehended what he was saying. “... you did well for this one, Farkas. Very well. However...” A certain amount of slyness came into her tone, despite exhaustion. “If you feel it needed, time might be found to try again... not... not here, though... too many ears.”
A slight nod accepted that desire, and he reached out to her. A great paw of a hand took her shoulder and scooped around her to bring her in against his chest; to share his natural warmth with her and rest his chin atop her head. She didn't fight him, lethargically nuzzling against his neck and chest.
“... can't spend the night.” She murmured, even though it sounded as if she might just fall asleep in his grasp. “Tilmo will be looking for this one...”
“Mmmm...” Farkas made no move the separate from her, his arm having encircled her and his hand rubbing her back in long, soft strokes. “It's okay.” He added. “I'll take you back to bed if you doze off. Let's just... stay like this, a little longer.”
She didn't answer him, save for a soft purr.